From Ally to Traitor
by Ray Yanma
Summary: This is a spin-off story from Harry Turtledove's novel, "How Few Remain ( This story is through the eyes of the Apache that killed Confederate general, James Ewell Brown "Jeb" Stuart. This story is in no way trying to plagiarize Harry Turtledove's story, and is what some people would call a "fan-fiction."
1. Chapter 1

The Apache warrior looked up at the blue sky. The sun beat down on his face, and glared in his eyes until he looked away. _Many more hours until nightfall_. he thought to himself. This would give him plenty of time to find water and return to camp safely.

The Confederates have been pursuing the Apaches for nearly a month, and Geronimo, the Apache leader has been getting more anxious every day. Sooner or later, the warriors would run out of hiding places and have to fight the Confederates head-on. The Apache warrior knew that while they were great at hiding, everything had to be found eventually.

Finding the water he needed, the warrior proceeded back to camp. His horse would be at his tepee waiting for him, unless the Confederates were to somehow to find the camp while he was gone. He arrived within an hour, and proceeded to his shelter.

The camp was small and covered from all sides, except for the road leading to it, by mountains. From a distance, it would look like a part of the lush, green, mountainous landscape. _From a white and Mexican's point of view_ ,thethe Apache thought. Birds were chirping their pleasant songs throughout the encampment.

Finding Geronimo's teepee was easy. You could tell that it was Geronimo's because his stuff in front of his looked much nicer compared to the other teepees. Geronimo walked out of the shelter with his son, Chappo-almost looking identical to his father-except for the lack of a weathered face on him.

Geronimo greeted the warrior in the native tongue of the Apache, "I am glad to see you," he said. "Did you see any soldiers?"

"No," the warrior replied.

"Good," the old Apache replied. The warrior could not tell if he really meant it. No one could ever tell though. His face was so weathered, with so many lines and crevices throughout it, how could you tell?

Chappo chimed in, "I hope you remembered to cover any evidence of where you were."Since Chappo's face was smooth as a wet rock, you could always tell what he was thinking.

Looking Chappo directly in the eye, the warrior said, "Of course. You know I did. Everyone is supposed to cover their tracks."

Like his father, he only replied with, "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

The Apache Warrior looked down at a valley from the crest of the hill. He could see whatever was down in the valley, but whatever was down in there could not see him. He looked at his comrades on both of his sides. They looked expressionless behind their boulders. He knew though that they were just as anxious as him.

The Confederates were somehow able to find the correct road that the Apaches were using, and were right on their tail. Some dynamite traps were able to slow them down long enough that Geronimo was able to set up his ambush in the valley. Each warrior was to roll down as many large boulders as they could down the hill, and then shoot at the Confederates. It seemed like a good strategy, but you never could tell.

 _If this fails, we will have to retreat to our camp_ ,the Apache warrior thought. He also knew that would mean the Confederates finding it.

He couldn't think much longer, for here came the Confederates. Their gray and butternut, a word that the Apaches thought was a weird name for a shade of brown, uniforms stood out in the mountains like a sore thumb. _Not as bad as the blue coats or the Mexicans, but still bad_ , the warrior thought. Their rifles rested in their scabbards attached to their horses, while their revolvers and their sabers were attached to their sides. They were much more numerous than the Apache warriors, but they did not have the advantage.

The Apache looked at his fellow warriors, and prepared to push his boulder down the hill. When the signal was given, he pushed it down with all his might, and watched as it rolled down quickly and loudly. He raised his Tredegar carbine, a close copy of the British Martini-Henry rifle and the official rifle of the Confederate States of America, to his shoulder and fired at the Confederates. Men and horse alike fell and collapsed to the ground with high-pitched shrieks. The warrior worked the lever to eject the spent round and proceeded put a fresh one in.

 _Zip!_ A round zoomed past his head. The warrior hugged the ground to avoid a possible second bullet. He aimed his rifle at the cluster of gray and butternut and fired. He angrily watched as his shot missed, and he worked the lever again to put a new round in. _Crack!_ his rifle went, and he watched as it missed the Confederates again, making a puff of dirt in the ground. The Confederates were starting to run up both hills.

He couldn't reload his rifle, for shouts of "Retreat!" in the Apache language rang out through the valley. The warrior got up from his prone position and ran to the direction of his horse. He looked behind him to see two of his fellow warriors laying dead in the dirt.

To the Apache, losing one warrior was equivalent to the Confederates losing ten.


	3. Chapter 3

The camp was in chaos. People were frantically trying to gather their things before the oncoming Confederates could arrive. Geronimo was trying to tell people to forget their possessions as best as he could with his old voice. Luckily, The warrior knew better, and only grabbed the supplies that he really needed.

Chappo arrived at the camp on his horse, and surveyed the frantic nature. Somehow, he spotted the warrior, and beckoned for him to approach him.

"What is it? the warrior asked.

"Are you willing to die for this tribe?" Chappo asked without hesitation.

"Yes." the warrior answered in reply.

Putting his horse in motion, Chappo said, "Come with me then, and fast."

The warrior left his horse and pursued Chappo as fast as he could. The warrior stopped with Chappo in front of Geronimo's teepee. Out came Geronimo with the tired look in his eyes, and with a look of fear on his face.

Looking the warrior in the eyes, he asked the same question Chappo asked earlier, "Are you willing to die for this tribe?"

The warrior replied with the same answer he gave Chappo, "Yes."

"Good," replied Geronimo. He studied the warrior's face with a look a father would give a son that he would see for one last time. After what seemed like a long pause, he spoke again, "I need you to carry out a task that could mean life or death for this tribe. I need to know if you are willing to do it."

"I am," the warrior answered assuredly.

"I need you to stay behind, and assassinate General Stuart; you are aware that this could mean death for you?" Geronimo looked the warrior in the eyes again, "Will you carry out this task?"

"I will," the warrior replied.

"Good," Geronimo answered. "You will know what to do. I will have my son look after your horse, for when you come back."

 _If I come back_ , the warrior thought.

 **Everything was quiet.** _Almost too quiet,_ the warrior thought. The only sounds accompanying the stillness was the occasional buzz of an insect.

Hiding behind cleverly-placed debris, the warrior looked down his rifle at the area of camp that the Confederates would most likely approach. Where General Stuart would hopefully be.

The warrior checked his Tredegar to make sure there was a round in it. The little piece of metal at the side, slanted at an angle, told him it was. Satisfied, he continued to wait. Not much longer after he checked his rifle, he heard the familiar clip-clop of horses' hooves.

In came the Confederates. The warrior was told that Stuart would be the first Confederate to come in. The first Confederate to come in wore a nice butternut uniform, with what looked like wreathed stars on his collar. _Could this be him?_ the warrior thought. No sooner had that thought crossed his mind when the figure turned and faced the warriors direction. The figure displayed a thick, long, dark beard on his face; the trademark of General Stuart.

There stood General Stuart. Mounted on a horse and looking proud as ever. His boyish features still on his face despite his age of forty-eight.

Not long after Stuart's arrival, came more Confederates. Their uniforms not looking as nice as Stuart's but each one showing care. The warrior knew that none of them could see him, so he continued to lie in wait.

Stuart began to converse with a man that rode next to him, a major possibly. The warrior could not make out what they were saying, but it did not matter to him.

Waiting for the right moment to have a clear shot seemed like an eternity, but Stuart turned to face the soldier he was conversing with. His side was perfectly exposed. Taking no chances, the warrior raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired.

 _Crack!_ the rifle went as the bullet exited the chamber. No sooner had the bullet left the rifle, when it made the satisfying _Smack!_ Stuart writhed and groaned and fell off his horse to the ground.

The warrior watched the man that once used to their ally, die like the enemy he became.


End file.
